Welcome to August, that classic time for families to go on vacations before the school year starts. What vacations did you take as a kid? Was your family a vacation family or the kind of family that did whatever you could around the house to make summers a bit more fun?
Continue readingThis is a double issue of Cody’s Corner! Cactus Cancer Society takes July off, so you will get double the Cody in this post! Welcome to June, the month with the longest day of the year!
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Here’s the truth: connection doesn’t always happen in person. Sometimes it happens through screens, across time zones, between people who’ve never met but understand each other instantly.
That’s the beauty of virtual support groups. They take the loneliness that so often shadows cancer, especially for young adults, and turn it into something softer, something shared. Whether you’re tuning in from a hospital bed, your couch, or a tiny apartment with a stubborn Wi-Fi signal, you can still find your people.
You don’t have to be in the same room to be in the same story.
Young adult cancer life is full of contradictions: you might look fine but feel awful, crave community but feel too tired to socialize, want to talk about cancer but not only talk about cancer. That’s where online groups shine.
Virtual spaces create accessibility: physically, emotionally, and financially. No commute. No awkward waiting rooms. No pressure to “look okay.” You can show up in your pajamas, with your camera off, or just listen until you’re ready to speak.
And the benefits are real. Research shows that online peer and support groups for cancer survivors improve mood, reduce isolation, and increase overall quality of life (Uchino, 2006; Spiegel & Classen, 2000).
You don’t need to have the perfect words or energy to join. You just need curiosity and maybe a little courage.
The following organizations offer online spaces where you can find understanding, humor, and friendship no matter what stage you’re in.
Weekly Zoom groups organized by diagnosis and stage, including metastatic and young-adult-specific meetups.
Designed for young adult survivors who are parenting small children. Programs include support groups, workshops, and community events.
A space for men moving forward after cancer, focusing on purpose, growth, and peer connection.
Free, 15-week virtual groups led by oncology social workers. Each group focuses on specific diagnoses, caregiver needs, or survivorship stages.
An active online discussion board connecting survivors and caregivers nationwide.
Offers free virtual support groups and YA-specific programs led by trained facilitators.
A social network connecting fighters, survivors, and caregivers through profiles, blogs, and forums organized by diagnosis and life stage.
Peer-led Facebook and online groups for breast cancer patients, including young adult and metastatic-specific communities.
Virtual support for children and teens (ages 6–18) whose parent or guardian has cancer — because kids need community too.
Peer-led nonprofit offering virtual support groups and navigation for breast and gynecologic cancers.
Virtual programs and groups dedicated to those living with triple-negative breast cancer.
Virtual and in-person programs for young adults, including navigation, fitness, and community gatherings.
Ongoing wellness and virtual support groups for young adult survivors and co-survivors, with fun and flexible formats.
Not every group will feel like home and that’s okay. The right one will. Here’s how to find it:
You can also reach out to your oncology social worker or Cactus Cancer’s team for suggestions. We love connecting folks with spaces where they’ll thrive.
Virtual support groups remind us that healing doesn’t happen in isolation, it happens in community, even if that community is built on screens and shared playlists.
If you’re ready to find your people, explore our Virtual Support Group Directory on the Cactus Cancer Society website. From young adult drop-ins to diagnosis-specific meetups, there’s a place waiting for you.
Because no matter where you are, your couch, your clinic, your car connection is still possible. And it just might change everything. 💛
There’s a special kind of relief that comes from talking to someone who just gets it. No explaining, no softening, no apologizing for the hard stuff, just instant understanding.
That’s what peer connection is all about. When you’ve gone through cancer, even your most loving friends might not fully understand what it’s like to live in this new reality. The fatigue, the fear, the weird sense of being both “lucky” and “lost.” But another survivor? They know.
Peer support doesn’t erase the hard parts, but it makes them lighter to carry. It turns isolation into connection and sometimes, connection into healing.
For me, connecting to peers with blood cancer made all the difference in my mental health. It started online and eventually I gained a group of friends I’ve met IRL and keep in touch with each week.
The science backs up what you may already know: connection is medicine. Studies show that cancer survivors who engage in peer or group support report lower distress, higher quality of life, and greater sense of meaning (Spiegel & Classen, 2000; Uchino, 2006).
For young adults, that connection is even more critical. You’re navigating identity, relationships, and the future all while processing an experience that most people your age can’t relate to. Peer mentorship creates a bridge between “I’m the only one” and “I’m not alone.”
And peer doesn’t just mean patient. Caregivers, co-survivors, and loved ones benefit, too. When you can talk to someone who’s been there whether that’s about scanxiety, intimacy, returning to work, or just existing in a changed body, something inside you exhales.
These are some compassionate peer connection programs for young adults and their loved ones:
Connects young adults with blood cancer to trained peer mentors who understand the journey firsthand.
Matches patients, survivors, and caregivers navigating brain tumors with trained mentors through the American Brain Tumor Association.
Free and confidential 1:1 peer support for anyone impacted by cancer. Mentors are trained survivors and caregivers who’ve been through it.
Professional-led programs that offer both group support and peer matching for patients and caregivers.
Pairs newly diagnosed patients or caregivers with trained “buddy” mentors who share lived experience.
A unique program that connects young adults with mentors in their career field during or after treatment — helping them rebuild purpose and future goals.
Peer navigation for individuals with hereditary cancers, including breast, ovarian, pancreatic, and prostate.
Global 1:1 peer support for patients, survivors, and caregivers. Matches are made by diagnosis, age, and experience for the best fit.
Matches people living with lung cancer to volunteer mentors who’ve faced similar challenges.
Connects newly diagnosed neuroendocrine tumor patients with mentors who share lived experience.
Peer mentor program for young adults with breast cancer, pairing them with survivors who offer guidance and encouragement.
Offers peer connections, local meetups, and online communities for young adults affected by breast cancer.
Peer mentors and support groups for those impacted by prostate cancer.
You don’t have to show up with the right words — just honesty. Here are a few ways to make peer connection meaningful:
Peer support is proof that healing doesn’t happen in isolation, it happens in community. Every story shared, every “me too,” every text exchanged at midnight builds a little more light into the dark corners of survivorship.
If you’re ready to find someone who’s walked a similar path, explore our Peer Connection & Mentorship Directory to find programs that match your diagnosis, age, and needs.
Because sometimes the best medicine is another human saying, “I’ve been there and you’re going to be okay.” 💛
I’m wondering about dating after cancer treatment. I just worry that everyone will pity me and not take me seriously as a potential partner. Also, how to navigate the potential of needing care later on? How do you deal with that?
This is a tender and vulnerable question, and it makes so much sense that dating after cancer would feel complicated. Cancer can change how you see yourself, and it can make you wonder how others will see you, too. Wondering whether your potential partner will pity you or take you seriously makes sense to me; it’s a common concern I’ve heard from other YAs navigating dating. This can show up in other relationships too, not just romantic ones! I want to gently redirect you to an important follow-up question: What would it mean about the person and/or the relationship if that did happen?
I ask this question because often when we are someone who is navigating the world of oncology, disability, chronic pain, infertility, and more, we begin to look at ourselves as the common denominator and therefore the problem. Having needs that may differ from someone your age, or who you were before cancer, does not make you the problem. Instead, I want to offer that the right person for you will stay curious about your experiences and won’t feel burdened by your medical history. Your cancer experience is part of you, but it is not all of you. The right person will be able to see that. Sure, “normies” may need a little guidance at first (they haven’t had this experience before, after all), but I want to encourage you to notice if someone isn’t taking you seriously or giving you pity even after a conversation, then that is data about that person or the relationship.
Dating asks you to be seen, and that can feel vulnerable in a different way after going through something as significant as cancer. I also want to remind you that you get to decide how and when you share your story. Some people feel more comfortable being open early on, and others wait until there is more trust. There isn’t a right or wrong way to disclose your medical history. What matters is that it feels aligned with your comfort and your sense of safety! You get to decide if and when the person you are dating is safe enough (emotionally) to share this tender part of yourself with.
The question about future care is a big one. Cancer can make the possibility of needing care feel more immediate and more real. At the same time, needing care at some point is part of being human and a normal part of being in a long-term relationship. There is a saying in disability spaces that disability is the only identity any of us can enter at any time. What you are naming is something many people carry, even if they are not always saying it out loud
A small reframe for you: You do not have to solve that question at the beginning of dating or a relationship. In fact, you may not want to solve it that early.
Early on, it is enough to focus on whether this person is kind, whether they listen, whether they show up consistently, and how you feel in their presence. As a relationship grows, conversations about support, capacity, and care tend to happen more naturally. When those conversations come up, you can approach them with openness. You might share that your cancer experience has shaped how you think about support and that being able to talk about those things matters to you.
It may also help assuage any anxiety around long-term care by starting to have these conversations with yourself. For example, if and when you do need long-term care, what would be your priorities? Your major concerns? Are there any steps you could take now to have a plan in place? Things like a power of attorney, a will, or making some financial decisions could help you to feel empowered in navigating these concerns long before a long-term partner enters the picture.
There is also something really important I am hearing underneath all of this. You are wondering if you will be seen as a full partner, someone who is desired, chosen, and taken seriously.
Please hear me, you are worthy of all of that. Your worth in a relationship is not defined by your medical history. The right people will recognize that and see you for the full expansive human you are. If you find that you struggle with this idea, it may be time to join YA group spaces or seek out a qualified mental health therapist. Memorial Sloan Kettering has a podcast with several episodes on dating inside cancer, or you might even check out Elephants and Tea and see what other YA’s are writing about on this topic. You might also find some of these options supportive in the journey around cancer, dating, and self-love:
Rooting for a love (and self-love) that accepts you fully,
Perrie
Ask Perrie is Cactus Cancer Society’s advice column for the questions that young adult cancer doesn’t come with instructions for. Community members submit anonymous questions, and Perrie offers thoughtful guidance, perspective, and practical ideas for navigating life during and after cancer.
I am a few years out of active treatment, and I still have significant post-treatment fatigue. Not looking for strategies to combat fatigue, but more on how to explain it to other people that my “tired” (bone-deep exhaustion) is different than other people’s “tired.” It’s hard, because I also look physically well now and I’m able to “function” well. Advice needed, Perrie!!
First, I want to validate that your experience makes sense, and you are far from alone in this. So many young adults I talk to share this exact tension: they look “functional” (especially as young adults). Some may even have a habit of pushing through chronic symptoms so they can still participate in regular life, but end up crashing later. This all happens while carrying bone-deep fatigue and the internal battle of managing capacity as an adult. That’s a lot.
One tool that can really help put language to this is Spoon Theory. If you’re not familiar, it’s a way of describing energy as a limited number of “spoons” you start the day with. Every task (like getting dressed, working, socializing, even thinking through something emotional) costs a spoon. Using this framework with others can sometimes help them visualize what it’s like to balance capacity while living with chronic fatigue.
So, instead of saying “I’m tired,” you might say: “I only have a certain number of spoons each day, and I have to choose carefully how I use them.” Or “If I spend my energy here, I might not have enough left for something later. I’ve found that language like this can sometimes help ‘normies’ understand that chronic fatigue isn’t about willpower or effort, it’s about capacity. In my personal life, I’ve even set up a system at home so my husband knows my spoons/capacity that day. I’ll write on the whiteboard or text him how many spoons I have, which helps us adjust our schedule accordingly.
It may also help to pair Spoon Theory with language such as “dynamic disability” and “invisible illness”. Dynamic disability means your abilities are not fixed. Your capacity can shift day to day or even hour to hour, so what feels manageable one day may feel impossible the next. Invisible illness means what you’re experiencing may not be obvious to others. You might look “fine” while your body is working overtime just to function. Together, these terms can help explain why chronic fatigue is so hard for others to see or understand and help to reinforce your limits when discussing your fatigue with others.
Lastly, it may also be supportive to get concrete about what support actually looks like. People often want to help, but don’t know how, having never lived through cancer or chronic fatigue. You might say something like, “It helps when plans are flexible,” “I may need to cancel at the last minute,” “Offering options instead of expectations makes things easier,” or “Low-energy time together still means a lot to me.” These types of statements set expectations and communicate directly the type of support that feels most helpful for YOU. You might need to practice these statements on your own at first, and that’s okay! I’ve been known to have a mirror conversation or two to help myself practice naming my needs.
All that said, there is a hard truth we can’t avoid when communicating our needs: Even the best explanation won’t make everyone understand.
You can do your best to explain your experience. You can offer tools to understand. You can be vulnerable and honest. But you cannot control whether someone truly gets it. What you can control is how you care for yourself in response. That’s where boundaries come in. That might sound like, “I need to head out early so I don’t overdo it.” “I can’t commit to that right now.” “I need a slower day today.” Try not to over-explain, and try not to apologize for having real limits! Boundary work is often easier said than done, because we then have to sit with someone’s uncomfortable reactions to our boundaries. I recommend checking out Nedra Glover, a licensed therapist and author who discusses boundary-setting extensively, as a tool for support.
And as a side note, if you do share vulnerably (which is always optional) with someone and take the time to explain your fatigue, your limits, your reality, and they dismiss it, minimize it, or continue to expect more from you than you can give… that’s important information about the relationship. Don’t get me wrong, some people will meet you there. They’ll adjust expectations, move plans around, respect your limits, and truly care about your capacity. They’ll make a real effort to accommodate your needs and still include you. These types of relationships are worth their weight in gold. And still…. others won’t. Part of navigating life after cancer is learning to invest your energy in the relationships that can honor your reality, not fight against it.
There is also something really powerful in your question. I can tell that you are learning how to listen to and honor your body, name your limits, and advocate for yourself in ways most people never have to. This work is hard, but it’s absolutely vital in reconnecting with yourself after an experience like cancer. I’m really proud of you for doing the hard things!
With you in it,
Perrie 🌵
Ask Perrie is Cactus Cancer Society’s advice column for the questions that young adult cancer doesn’t come with instructions for. Community members submit anonymous questions, and Perrie offers thoughtful guidance, perspective, and practical ideas for navigating life during and after cancer.
Written by young adult cancer patient Cody, this blog reflects on what AYA Cancer Awareness Week actually means beyond the headline. From navigating life as the youngest person in the room to finding connection, grief, and unexpected moments of joy, it’s an honest look at what this experience really holds.
Continue readingHow do we cope with the major fear of recurrence for the rest of our hopefully long lives?
How do we choose a career where we do not want to waste our time and be fulfilled, but also gives us the stability and health benefits, especially after experiencing such a traumatic part of our lives?
I’m going to do my best here to be a supportive place to land with these concerns, because they are some heavy and really common concerns among YA cancer folks. First, I want to name something important. Fear of recurrence is a huge part of young adult cancer. So much so that research consistently identifies it as one of the top three long-term aftereffects experienced by AYA survivors. I share that not to make it feel inevitable, but to normalize the experience. You are not alone in this fear, and many struggle to navigate it.
When you’ve lived through something as traumatic and life-altering as cancer, it makes sense that your brain and body remain alert to the possibility that it could happen again. Your mind is trying to protect you! The tricky part is that this protective system sometimes stays on high alert long after treatment ends (or longer than necessary).
Navigating fear of recurrence will look different for everyone. For some people, it means working with a trusted therapist who understands cancer survivorship. For others, it means finding community spaces where they can talk openly with people who truly understand the experience. And for many others, it takes space and time (ugh, I know, I know….time?!?) for healing as your mind, body, and soul adjust to your reality.
Here are a few approaches that I’ve found personally and professionally helpful in dealing with fear of recurrence:
Let the feeling exist.
Trying to force fear away often makes it louder. Acknowledging that fear is present can sometimes soften its grip. For many people, fear of recurrence does not completely disappear; it softens with time and grows quieter with experience navigating it. I don’t say that to scare you, but to name a truth that many experience: Sometimes the work becomes less about getting rid of fear and more about learning how to let the fear exist without letting it run your life. You see, the more we try to avoid fear, the bigger it can become. You might experiment with gently allowing yourself to be scared while still doing the important things in your life. You might even try practicing being with the fear in small increments on purpose. Yes, I know that sounds a little strange, but stay with me. The more you practice letting the feeling exist, the easier it can be to navigate when it inevitably knocks on your door.
Bring yourself back to what you actually know to be true.
Fear has a way of pulling our minds into imagined futures. When that happens, try to anchor yourself in the present moment. What do you know to be completely true right now? Right now, you are here in this moment. Right now, you are living your life inside of trauma or new symptoms. Right now, you are doing your absolute best to cope. Bringing your brain back to the current moment is not only an exercise in reeling your thoughts in, but an act of mindfulness. The practice of paying attention to the current moment, on purpose, without judgment. Mindfulness has been shown, across a multitude of studies and cultural practices, to be a cornerstone of resilience and psychological health. When you notice your brain in future-tripping land (as I lovingly call it), try to see if you bring it back to what’s right in front of you through art, music, or another novel experience. It should help take the temperature down!
Additionally, if you are unsure what symptoms should prompt a call to your oncologist, ask them directly. Having that information can be incredibly grounding. Keep a list of those symptoms somewhere accessible (looking at you, iPhone notes app) so when your brain starts spiraling, you have something concrete. Sometimes that reminder helps us see that our mind is trying to protect us from a future that has not arrived.
Give the fear somewhere to go.
Talking about it with trusted people, journaling, creative expression, therapy, or support groups can help move fear out of your head and into a space where it can actually be processed. Giving your body an opportunity to release some of that energy can be really important for your nervous system and overall mood management. Things like movement, physical activity, grounding exercises, or emotional processing in safe spaces are all ways to help your nervous system move through fear instead of holding it alone. Give yourself and your body an opportunity to chew through the feelings by finding which activities work best for you.
Your second question about choosing a career after cancer is another really big one. Choosing a career that balances your needs is already a complicated process in young adulthood. When cancer enters the picture, those decisions can start to feel even heavier. It makes sense that you might feel overwhelmed or even frozen when trying to choose something that is both meaningful and stable. Cancer often changes our relationship with time. Suddenly, the idea of wasting time can feel terrifying. There can be pressure to find work that feels deeply fulfilling while also making sure you have stability, health insurance, and enough flexibility to take care of your body.
The truth is that most people build meaningful lives in layers rather than through one perfect decision.
Give yourself some grace to make the next best choice you can in this moment, and maybe even some permission to change your mind later. As you continue to grow as a human, your needs and priorities may shift or evolve. That may mean a professional pivot somewhere down the road, and that is okay (and to be expected, growing and changing is so so human).
Some tough love here: you do not have to solve the rest of your life today, even if your brain is trying to convince you that you should.
If you still find yourself feeling stuck on the career piece, it may be helpful to work with a career coach, academic advisor, or another professional who can help guide you through what matters most to you right now. Sometimes, simply exploring your options with someone who understands the process can relieve some of the pressure to find a path that checks every box all at once.
The fact that you are asking these questions tells me you are paying close attention to the life you want to build. That kind of reflection can feel heavy sometimes, but it can also lead to a life that feels deeply intentional. What a wonderful paradox.
Wishing you courage as you keep asking the big questions,
Perrie
Ask Perrie is Cactus Cancer Society’s advice column for the questions that young adult cancer doesn’t come with instructions for. Community members submit anonymous questions, and Perrie offers thoughtful guidance, perspective, and practical ideas for navigating life during and after cancer.
Cancer stories are often told in tidy arcs or in medicalized language. Diagnosis. Treatment. Ring the bell. Survivor. Move forward.
Young adult survivors, patients, caregivers, and co-survivors know it rarely works that way.
Life within and after cancer can be messy, quiet, complicated, funny, exhausting, beautiful, and uncertain all at once. It can mean navigating work, school, parenting, and relationships while balancing chemotherapy, surgery, or radiation. It can mean celebrating no progression of disease while still carrying the burden of scanxiety and frequent oncology appointments. It can mean holding grief and gratitude in one hand or rebuilding a sense of identity when the person you were before cancer feels lost.
The Through the Lens: Life Beyond Young Adult Cancer Photovoice Exhibit invites the public into those realities. This exhibit is part of the Through the Lens national campaign, a creative and research initiative developed by the School of Social Work at Colorado State University and curated by members of the Serious Illness and End-of-Life Narratives Lab alongside the Through the Lens Young Adult Advisory Board.
Through the Lens features artwork from 16 young adult cancer survivors across the country, bringing together photography, personal narratives, paintings, and poetry that explore what survivorship actually looks like for young adults. Instead of statistics or medical explanations, these stories come directly from the people who have lived them. The result is an exhibit that feels less like a gallery and more like a collection of lived, tender moments, showcasing the art and perspectives of young adults with cancer.
At the heart of this project is a creative storytelling method called photovoice. Photovoice invites people to document their own lived experiences through photography, poetry, art, and narrative. Instead of having their stories interpreted by researchers or clinicians, participants choose the moments, objects, and images that best represent their lives. For young adults navigating cancer, that kind of storytelling can be deeply powerful. It allows survivors to reclaim authorship of their experiences and share perspectives often overlooked in traditional cancer narratives. Through their art, they advocate for equitable cancer care for young adults.
The goals of the exhibit reflect that intention.
The project seeks to increase awareness of the psychosocial impact that young adult cancer can have on identity, relationships, and developmental milestones. It amplifies the wisdom of survivors as they navigate meaning-making and rebuilding purpose. And it highlights the complex uncertainty many young adults carry long after treatment ends.
Walking through the exhibit means stepping into deeply personal moments.
Some images capture the intensity of treatment.
One artist shares a self-portrait taken beside a bedside table overflowing with prescription bottles and scattered medications. The photograph reflects the exhausting routine of managing symptoms and navigating a flood of treatments while already living with chronic illness.
Some photographs hold quiet spaces for reflection.
One survivor shares images of Lake Michigan, a place she drives to on difficult days to sit with the water and reset.
Several artists explore grief and legacy.
One photograph shows a shoreline once shared with both of the artist’s parents, who passed away from cancer. In a second image, the landscape remains the same, but the figures are gone. The absence speaks as loudly as their presence once did.
Across the exhibit, there is a shared honesty that many young adult survivors will recognize immediately. Life after cancer does not follow a single narrative. One of the most powerful elements of the exhibit is its honesty in portraying the emotional terrain that young adults often navigate after treatment. Several artists describe the feeling of living with a shadow that never quite lifts. Even on days when life feels joyful or ordinary, there can still be a quiet awareness of follow-up scans, lingering side effects, and the possibility of recurrence.
Others explore the complicated process of rebuilding identity. Who are you after cancer? How do you integrate the person you were before diagnosis with the person you have become through the experience? These are questions many survivors continue asking for years.
The exhibit does not attempt to resolve those questions. Instead, it creates space for them to exist. It offers room for these experiences to be seen, held, and empathically witnessed. In many ways, the artwork gently turns the question back toward the viewer.
Will you bear witness to the truth of our experiences?
Many of the artists describe creativity as part of their healing process.
Photography, painting, and storytelling offered a way to slow down and reflect during recovery. One artist shares how creating art helped quiet the judgmental voice that often demanded perfection, allowing space to simply exist.
Another artist describes photography as a way to document moments during treatment that felt surreal or impossible to explain. Capturing those moments created a form of proof that the experience was real, something they could return to later to better understand what they had lived through.
Creative expression does not erase the hardship of cancer. But it can offer language, especially when words fall short, for emotions that are difficult to name. For many young adults with cancer, art becomes both a coping tool and a form of meaning-making in its own right.
The project is led by Dr. Jen Currin-McCulloch, an Associate Professor of Social Work at Colorado State University. Her career has focused on oncology and palliative care, with a particular interest in the ways people find hope and meaning while living with serious illness.
Through her clinical work in hospital settings, Dr. Currin-McCulloch often met young adults navigating cancer who shared that medical conversations rarely included the parts of life that still brought them joy or purpose. That observation became the spark for creating a space where young adults could explore those questions together.
The Through the Lens: Life Beyond Young Adult Cancer photo exhibit will be on display in Fort Collins, Colorado, this April.
Exhibit Hours
April 8 to April 12
12:00 PM to 6:00 PM MST
Reception
Saturday, April 11
3:00 PM to 5:00 PM MST
Location
Center for Creativity
200 Mathews St
Fort Collins, CO 80524
Visitors are invited to explore the artwork, reflect on the stories behind the images, and engage with the many ways young adults navigate life after cancer.
Organizations interested in bringing the traveling exhibit to their own community can inquire through the Through the Lens website or contact Dr. Jen Currin-McCulloch at Colorado State University at jen.currin_mcculloch@colostate.edu or call (970) 391-4941.
Many young adult cancer survivors spend years explaining their experiences to people who have never lived through them. This exhibit offers a different invitation.
Instead of simplifying those stories, Through the Lens allows them to exist in their full complexity. Through the lens of these artists, we are invited not just to look, but to truly see what life beyond young adult cancer can hold.
To learn more, please visit: Colorado State University Photovoice Exhibit
Cactus Cancer Society is so proud to introduce the 2026 Young Adult Cancer Advocate of the Year (YAAY) candidates! These passionate, driven individuals are not only raising awareness, but making a tangible impact in the lives of young adult cancer patients, survivors, and caregivers.
Over the course of nine weeks, these inspiring candidates will raise critical funds to fuel and sustain creative coping programs that combat the loneliness, fear, and uncertainty of a cancer diagnosis. But they can’t do it alone. This is where YOU come in!
Every dollar you donate is a vote for the advocate you believe deserves the prestigious title of Young Adult Cancer Advocate of the Year. More importantly, your contributions directly fuel Cactus Cancer Society’s life-saving programs – proven to reduce loneliness, anxiety, depression, and psychological distress for young adults facing cancer. Who will take home the title of Young Adult Cancer Advocate of the Year? That’s up to you! Casting your vote today and help shape the future for young adults facing cancer!
